She sits at the wheel pulling cold balls of claycentering us on the bat, foot gently feeding the pedalpressing out our densities, opening our centersturning us into simple vesselsbuilt for filling. I want to be your favorite soup-bowla singing teapot. But the world is still creating us—glazing & firing us until we have no more water, or…

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members.
Log In Register
Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud
%d bloggers like this: